Solanaceae Serenity
by Mu xxx
Summary: Harry discovers a potion in a restricted text that helps to alleviate his troubled thoughts. Set during Harry's sixth year. AU. No HBP Spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Solanaceae Serenity  
**Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** Harry Potter/Severus Snape  
**Warnings:** drug use, explicit language, explicit sexual scenes with a person under 18, self-harm, slash.  
**Summary:** Harry discovers a potion in a restricted text that helps to alleviate his troubled thoughts. Set during Harry's sixth year. AU. No HBP Spoilers.

**AN:** If you do not appreciate slash, meaning relations between two males, then I suggest you refrain from reading this story. Also, if you are squicked by drug abuse and self-harm, this story is not for you.

This is a rather short story, too long to be a one-shot, but too short to be called anything else. Will most likely consist of perhaps three to four chapters, each longer than this intial one.

**DISCLAIMER:** All recognised characters are property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury publishing and anyone else I have inadvertently missed out. No profit is being made from this endeavour.

**Solanaceae Serenity**- _Chapter One_

Deadly nightshade, atropa belladonna; a herb containing deadly alkaloids that cause severe digestive upset, trembling, weakness, difficulty in breathing and quite possibly paralysis. These alkaloids, a group of mildly alkaline compounds derived mostly from plants, will cause these effects upon the human body. This toxic herb also contains nitrogen in a similar manner to that of ammonia, to which it is structurally related.

Yet nevertheless a potion (_Solanaceae Serenity_) containing this deadly nightshade as it's chief ingredient was to be found in a book called '_Most Potente Potions_'. This book, however, was located only within the Hogwarts restricted section of the library, or in selected book stores- namely those situated in areas such as Knockturn Alley. But Harry Potter had found this potion by sheer luck, only remembering it from when he'd seen it during his second year when Hermione had brewed the polyjuice potion.

But this book was now Harry Potter's best friend or, perhaps more appropriately, his worst friend.

Harry had, most meaningfully, stumbled upon this potion that promised to dull his feelings, and his emotions, for a period of time and apparently allow him a few hours of peace. His mind was to be freed from his conscience and rampaging thoughts, leaving him feeling serene even when he shouldn't have been. It was, however expected or unexpectedly, highly addictive and illicit.

But Harry hadn't counted on becoming dependant. As far as addictions go, the _Solanaceae Serenity_ potion was rather quite demanding once given free reign upon a willing body.

Since it was a magical concoction, it needed magical ingredients including some that weren't sold over the counter. This was the first hurdle for Harry to overcome if indeed he deemed himself needy of this potion, which he had. Of course Snape's dungeon supply cupboard could start him off, but Harry didn't want to rely solely upon it. Instead, he managed to create an alias, and charmed the parchment order he'd written on to spill no secrets, unless extremely heavily confunded- which was highly unlikely to happen.

The potions supply shop in Knockturn Alley had been more than happy to comply with Harry's requests and orders, as well as send the ingredients with an anti-detection charm that would be able to fool even Hogwarts' security measures.

Brewing had been another issue, but after thoroughly scanning and monitoring the --most useful-- Marauders map, Harry found the place he needed- an abandoned room (Hogwarts was full of them) of some description in the tower of the east wing. It was also close to a series of secret passages, which Harry suspected had been created for house-elf use, and had paths leading to both Gryffindor territory and the dungeons.

It must have been expected for Harry to undergo changes during his abysmal summer holidays, for no one questioned him on his new, more silent and brooding demeanour. Not even his two closest friends, Hermione and Ron, who although obviously concerned, never uttered a single word.

The first time Harry took the potion, he never wanted to return from its effects. His memory of it was slightly hazy, but the feeling of complete ease and peace remained embedded within him, along with the weakness of his muscles that was one of the mentioned side effects. The book also stated that he might experience mild anxiety, although it was less likely to occur. Plus, Harry figured a bit of twitching wasn't too high a price to pay for his moments of harmony.

It had initially taken two weeks for the twitching to hit him, after having taken _Solanaceae Serenity_ every second night. First it began as mild hand shaking when attempting activities such as writing, and continued until his left eye-lid twitched around his dilated pupil. His thigh had also developed a tendency to quiver, along with his stomach muscles. Sleep was also evading him more frequently, but Harry felt no tiredness.

Apparently no one realised what he'd been doing, although almost every one of his teachers commented on his handwriting, and lack of punctuality with homework. Snape, expectedly, suspected him of thieving from his store cupboard, which Harry actually had done during his first week of school.

After a month, the need for silence and relaxation became more severe, rendering Harry into almost incessant twitching if not delivered. He began taking the potion every single night of the week, and relishing in the fact that, being in the east wing, he could watch and enjoy the natural beauty of each sunrise. It was this simple pleasure that enhanced the potion it seemed, bringing Harry to a point where he felt, for the first time in his life, a sense of normality.

Even if it had been artificially induced.

It wasn't until three months into the school year, and of course his addiction, that anyone really questioned Harry's behaviour or asked any questions. Harry shrugged them all off effectively, since whenever he muttered something about the death of Sirius they all shut their mouths very hastily indeed.

And it wasn't until Christmas holidays that he began taking 'The Serenity' as he called it, up to three times a day since he had no distractions and his body was slowly becoming immune and accustomed to its effects. Hermione and Ron had each gone to their respective homes, Harry forced (not really) into staying back at Hogwarts for his own safety-, which Harry found to be highly ironic.

He spent the first few days in a lucid, drug induced haze, not doing much other than indulging in the peaceful Serenity. He barely left his hideout, and even managed to forget completely that it was Christmas day, his only thought being that he needed to place an order for more ingredients. The trouble was, since it was Christmas, Harry also forgot that even the shops in Knockturn Alley would be closed for the next two, festive days- meaning that he'd resultantly run out of potion.

Presently, a wave of panic shot through Harry's almost skeletally thin, from not eating or sleeping, body and to rectify it he took a large gulp from the goblet of potion in his trembling grip. Feeling his mind lull back into oblivion, he could again relax.

The sunset really was beautiful, he thought solemnly, watching the shadows lengthen and eventually coat the world in darkness, even if you couldn't actually see the sun sinking below the horizon. For a few moments, nothing else but the spreading darkness existed. But when reality began clawing its way back into Harry's conscious thought, he couldn't help but think how utterly useless life really was, for in the end you're only going to die and loose everything you've every fought for.

Not that he was essentially complaining, but Harry knew he'd had a harder life that most of the people he knew. Of course there were millions of others out there with perspectively ruined lives, but they didn't matter for they either held onto tiny specks of that frustrating emotion known as optimism, or killed themselves before things could get any worse. But many did believe that all would be all right in the end.

"But of course it's alright in the end," Harry grunted out loud to the empty room, "for in the end they die, having endured hell for no reason at all."

But it wasn't as simple as that, for death was also undesirable. Death was the unknown, the place of no return. Once death becomes you, there's no way of redeeming the lost life, no matter how miserable it had been. It was this thought that was perhaps the only thing stopping Harry from swallowing deadly poison to kill him, or simply jumping out of the tower window.

Instead, Harry chose to make life more bearable, and that's where the _Solanaceae Serenity_ potion came into his life. While under the influence he was free to let his mind wander and his muscles relax. The Serenity abolished feelings of doubt and insecurity, replacing them with his old flame of curiosity and harmless wonder. The potion wasn't the same as ordinary Muggle drugs that put you on a 'high'. If anything, Harry had wondered, having read a lot about illicit drugs recently, the experience could be mildly associated with the effects of consuming Magic Mushrooms, but without the schizophrenia-like hallucinations. It was similar in the way it enhanced everything around you and created indescribable beauty in troubled times, when beauty was becoming exceptionally hard to find.

The amount of Serenity he now took in one session was equal to almost three days' worth during his first two weeks of consumption. Not only did Harry have to brew every three days now, but he also knew he must certainly be digging a pretty deep hole in his inheritance, for deadly nightshade wasn't exactly the cheapest herb in Britain. But then again, Harry mused one day; they say that happiness does come at a price.

Once realising what day it was, Harry wrinkled his nose disdainfully. He didn't know if he had presents or not, for he'd been in his room, as he thought of it as now, for two days and a night. Harry thought of presents as an entirely superficial way of celebrating a day that needed only, in his opinion, a loving family in your midst. It was people like the Dursley's who ruined the day, focusing not on each other, but on objects that really couldn't fill the void of not feeling loved. It was all just a show on the outside, none of it to them was done out of love.

But for the moment the Dursley's weren't Harry's main concern- his hands were beginning to tremble meaning he needed a top up of potion. Staggering weakly, Harry made his way over to the desk that held his cauldron. Peering inside, he was horrified to find a mere few drops of potion remained, and his ingredient order hadn't arrived. He lifted the cauldron unsteadily, almost dropping it, and poured the meagre amount into his goblet and swallowed it quickly, waiting for the tremors to abate.

After a good few minutes, which was usually more than enough time, the tremors did the complete opposite- they became worse. The Serenity was wearing off, and fast, Harry desperately needing more. He rummaged through all his equipment, now not necessary since it was his sixth year and he'd dropped potions as a subject, but his search was in vain. There were now two options for him:

One: Simply let the potion wear off, neither pleasant nor wanted or;

Two: Go to Snape's store cupboard and steal what he needed.

The latter was more appealing, so Harry, now shivering all over, donned his invisibility cloak and half jogged- half hopped his way down the hidden passage to the dungeons, all the way feeling as though he were performing an impression of Mad-eye Moody.

Along the way he met no foe although, Harry again remembered, Christmas dinner was probably still underway. Harry considered himself lucky for the smallest moment.

Naturally the cupboard was locked, but Harry knew a way around this, which he'd figured out by complete accident. If you kicked the door on the correct knot while casting _alohomora_ the door gave a little squeal and opened pronto. Harry bet that if Snape knew the door to his supplies cupboard was such a wimp it'd be found smouldering away in a fire somewhere. Again this trick worked, and Harry stumbled his way in, his thigh having just endured a rather powerful, and painful, muscle spasm.

It was way too risky to summon the nightshade, for all he knew there were explosives that might fall along the way and end his miserable life. Reaching up on his tiptoes, he pushed aside a jar labelled 'Dried frog spawn' in search of his 'Deadly Nightshade'. Desperation was beginning to ravage his nerves; his muscles contracting painfully and erratically with perspiration trickling down the back of his neck and trailing down his nose. With a shaky hand he moved another jar, only for his heart to skip an already accelerated beat when it went crashing to the hard stone floor.

"-- doesn't matter." Harry muttered under his breath. "-- he'll know I've been here anyway."

A few more smelly things crashed down around his feet, Harry not caring for he knew they weren't what he was in search of. Panicking that his search was futile Harry, almost yelling, commanded; "_Accio Deadly Nightshade_!" And waited.

But nothing happened.

"No!" Harry cried, falling to the ground in a heap, realising belatedly that one of the jars, and the bad smell, was undiluted butober pus, which was soaking into his jeans and beginning to burn his skin with boils like he was on fire.

Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet, still enraged, Harry spun around erratically and took a great step out of the room only to collide head on with no other than Snape himself.

"You!" Harry bellowed, his eyes bloodshot, pupils dilated and no less than utterly wild. "This is your fault!" He said, swaying and twitching, not even noticing the horrified expression on Snape's face as Snape's arms stopped him just in time from falling.

"Potter... what have you--" The notion of concern was missed by Harry, who was feeling worse as the seconds ticked by slowly. "Come with me." It was an order. Snape took hold of Harry's arms to drag him, but Harry fell to the floor.

"No... can't... need..." He whimpered, holding his head as a powerful headache erupted, along with the boils on his legs- only Harry couldn't feel them, since his limbs were numbing and cramping.

Snape levitated Harry and took him not to his office, but to his rooms as he's realised that something was very wrong with the boy.

"Potter, just tell me what you've taken?" Snape growled, not able to sound caring even if he really tried. But Harry just groaned in response. Snape shook him by the shoulders in a futile attempt to rouse him.

"Tell me, boy, or we go straight to the headmaster now." He said, a little less harsh but no less demanding. It wasn't up until that point that he really noticed the state Potter was in- skeletally thin, pale, and obviously on some form of illicit potion. He thought back to the start of year, when he'd been robbed, and his eyes widened in horror.

"Nightshade!"

-----

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! This will be the edited version of this story, as the original is NC-17! But that doesnt' take effect until later on, anyway! Please review...


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Solanaceae Serenity

**Rating:** R

**Pairing:** Harry Potter/Severus Snape

**Warnings:** drug use, explicit language, explicit sexual scenes with a person under 18, self-harm, slash.

**Summary:** Harry discovers a potion in a restricted text that helps to alleviate his troubled thoughts. Set during Harry's sixth year. AU. No HBP Spoilers.

**AN:** If you do not appreciate slash, meaning relations between two males, then I suggest you refrain from reading this story. Also, if you are squicked by drug abuse and self-harm, this story is not for you.

This is a rather short story, too long to be a one-shot, but too short to be called anything else. Will most likely consist of perhaps three to four chapters, each longer than this intial one.

**DISCLAIMER:** All recognised characters are property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury publishing and anyone else I have inadvertently missed out. No profit is being made from this endeavour.

**Solanaceae Serenity**- _Chapter Two_

Snape left Harry, who was now almost convulsing from his obvious overdose, to prepare a potion that would help counteract the poison he'd fed himself. Another necessity was an icy cold bath to numb the body- he'd deal with the boils later.

After filling the bathtub up with icy water, Snape returned for Harry and helped walk him to the bathroom. He had pulled off Harry's jumper and shoes, when Harry finally noticed what he was doing.

"No..." He protested feebly, trying not to let Snape take his t-shirt. "No!" He said with a bit more defiance.

"Potter, you need to get undressed." Snape growled. "You can leave your underwear on, but these must go!" He ordered, now tugging the butober pus soaked jeans down Harry's emaciated hips and thighs. In flesh Harry was thinner than Snape had originally thought, it was quite disturbing really, but now was not the time for that. He grasped Harry by his arms and before he had any time to protest had plunged him into the freezing water.

Snape had to use a charm to keep him in there and stilled, while setting up a timer so that he didn't leave the idiotic boy in there till his death, however pleasant the thought of that may have been. This left Snape with enough time to brew the antidote to the poison Harry had been consuming for the greater part of the school year.

Meanwhile, Harry's mind was whirling sporadically, occasionally slipping out of consciousness completely. He wasn't entirely sure of here he was, only that he was fighting against the most horrific coldness he'd ever endured, and was unable to move even the smallest muscle more than a fraction. He remembered the nightshade, the search and--

"-- Snape!" Harry's eyes widened as the foreboding figure of the potions master re-entered the bathroom in which Harry was situated in his icy hell.

"Well done Potter," Snape replied snidely. "Don't try to move, fighting it will only damage you more." He said, kneeling before the bathtub, a phial of shimmering silver potion in his grip. Carefully Snape held Harry's head still while he poured the potion down his throat, thankful that the boy actually swallowed it. "Good." He mumbled nonchalantly.

Slowly but surely, Harry felt his mind clearing despite the headache. He was shivering uncontrollably from the cold, not knowing that his lips had actually turned blue. He looked up at Snape, who was now standing and holding out his hand, his fingers visibly potion stained.

Harry took it without question, a sharp pang of gratitude hitting him out of the blue in his previously suppressed conscience. He held his arms out, as Snape indicated, with his back towards the man. Carefully he was towelled down, Harry shivering all the while, until he felt something soft and warm on his fingertips. Snape was guiding a dressing gown sleeve over first his right hand, and then his left. Snape crossed the front over and secured the belt just as an after tremor wracked Harry's body.

Harry gasped as Snape suddenly pulled him against his body, long arms firmly around his waist, and already Harry could feel the older mans body heat seeping into the dressing gown and reaching him through it. Unable to resist the temptation of warmth, Harry let his head fall back, before turning in the grip to embrace his professor in search of more much needed warmth.

Mildly shocked at the gesture, Snape awkwardly held his hands away for a moment, before relaxing slightly and wrapping his arms around the freezing body attached to him.

"Why so cold?" Harry asked in a chattering, raspy voice, furthermore muffled by Snape's shoulder.

"It had to be cold to numb the muscles and sensitive nerve endings throughout the body, although more specifically in the extremities. If not numbed artificially to a certain degree, the reversal of the potions effects can cause what has been described as excruciating pain similar to that of the cruciatus curse and also cause irreparable nerve damage." Snape informed in his lecture voice, feeling Harry's cold seep into him even through his thick winter robes.

"Please sir, I need warmth--" Harry breathed out, barely audible, tightening his embrace of Snape as much as was possible in his state.

"I can't artificially warm you Potter, with magic or anything above thirty seven degrees Celsius- normal body temperature. That includes the fire as well as any warming charms. It might help if you were to remove your remaining wet clothes." Snape made an ineffective attempt of removing Harry from his self, but the boy wasn't budging.

Harry nodded; trusting Snape's words utterly for the first time since meeting him, and managed to wiggle out of his underpants. Wordlessly Snape steered him out of the bathroom, and sat him on the couch before summoning a very thick duvet and wrapping it around him. Harry couldn't look Snape in the eye, for now that his rational mind was reawakening he felt a burning shame at what he'd done.

After what felt like an eternity of feeling sorry for himself, and more than a little embarrassed, Harry managed to draw up the courage from his Gryffindor heart to look Snape in the eye. He expected to see anger, hate and disappointment, but all he saw were two inky black depths returning his gaze, completely neutral and seemingly humble.

"It's not helping." Harry said in a small, childish voice, still shivering beyond his control. Silently Snape rose from his armchair and approached.

"Then sadly, there is only one more option." He said sombrely, and for a frightening moment Harry thought he'd be left to shiver to his death, but suddenly Harry understood. Opening the duvet, exposing his vulnerability even more in doing so, he allowed Snape to join him. Instead of sitting beside Harry, Snape motioned for Harry to stand and obeying, was pulled down into Snape's surprisingly comfortable lap.

"If you think you're going to harm me, Potter, you're not- you're entirely too much of a waif for that." Snape grumbled, actually pulling Harry down then wrapping his arms and the duvet around them.

After a few tense, awkward moments they each relaxed marginally and settled. Snape thought his ears had deceived him when he heard a small _thankyou_ uttered, but tightened his arms slightly in response anyway. They sat like this for a long while, Snape questioning both his and the boys' sanity, and Harry too shell shocked to even breathe normally. However, it wasn't long before the exciting events of the night caught up with each of them, and their eyes began getting heavy with sleep.

"Still so cold," Snape whispered worryingly, thinking Harry to be asleep.

"My back is feeling better, it's just everywhere else..." Harry said meekly, trailing off his words when Snape shifted beneath him. Sighing, Harry tucked his head under the older mans chin, perversely enjoying being held in such a manner.

They each managed to reawaken a few cramping muscles and move into a more sleep-friendly position; Harry had his back against the couch, his legs still so short that they didn't dangle over the end, with Snape facing him with his legs actually hanging off the edge due to his height. With the duvet tucked tight around them, there was no time to be feeling modest as Snape wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, pulling him against his lean body.

Harry, too tired and sore to really contemplate this bizarre situation, allowed the position and embraced it, falling into sleep for the first time in a long while.

Neither knew that the other was awake, but preferred it what way. Sometime during the night, their position had altered, Snape now on his back, Harry half on top of him with the older mans' arms around him, and Harry's hand splaying on Snape's chest. Slowly fingers teased within Harry's hair, feeling the unruly, yet soft strands. Equally paced, Harry's fingertips moved in slight motions against the fabric of Snape's shirt- he was still wearing yesterdays attire.

It was Sunday morning, the twenty-sixth of December- Boxing Day. Nothing important had been planned for the day, it was for rest and recreation. A couple of younger students were already outside, having a snow fight, oblivious to the fact that their famous Harry Potter had spent the night in Snape's arms having nearly overdosed on an illicit potion.

Harry's head was pounding, and he was extremely thirsty, not to mention completely mortified. But comfort, something that had been a luxury of the past Hogwarts' years, was overriding every desire he had to move. Despite everything, including the circumstances, Harry had to admit that Snape, of all people, really could be quite tolerable when he needed to be- and especially so when he was asleep. But for the moment Snape's breathing had changed, and Harry could sense he was wakening.

Snape was now moving slightly, so very stiffly Harry sat up, looking down at him. He looked the same, Harry mused, the only difference being his hair, which was completely dishevelled from sleep. Harry smiled slightly at the sight, a sudden burst of something other than depression surging through him.

"I don't know what you're looking so pleased about, Potter." Snape growled menacingly. "You wont be looking like that when facing the Headmaster..."

"No!" Harry cried, completely horrified at the thought of Dumbledore knowing what he'd done. He had no idea what the old mans reaction to his actions would be, and he certainly didn't intend to find out. "Please, sir, please don't--"

Instead of replying, Snape stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Harry to his own devices. He didn't come back until almost twenty minutes later, his first words a sharp order for Harry to get his skinny arse into the bathroom to sit in a hot bath and stay there until the water was only lukewarm- Harry obeyed without even so much as a peep.

Breakfast was waiting upon Harry's return- plain buttered toast with black tea, Snape muttering something that sounded a lot like _ruddy urchin_ as Harry very slowly ate what was on his plate. The temptation to ask why it appeared that Snape wasn't going to inform Dumbledore was overshadowed by the reasoning that if he pushed too hard, Dumbledore would be stepping through that fire in a matter of nanoseconds. So Harry kept his gob shut.

"Do you have a death wish, boy?" Snape asked abruptly from where he was seated.

Harry startled and shook his head.

"Then were you unaware that, over time, deadly nightshade actually accomplishes what it's name states? Since it works on the bodies nervous system, hence the shakes you have presently, it gradually distorts and destroys nerves and eventually the person." Snape continued to stare relentlessly at Harry.

"I knew it wasn't good for me, but I was just..." Harry frowned, feeling the pain of his emotions swell up in his chest, constricting his breathing momentarily. "... I needed a break. I just didn't plan on getting so... dependant."

"Where have you been brewing? Assuming of course you can actually--" Harry cut him off.

"Not far from here." He interjected, before Snape could complete his implication.

"Take me there. Now." The older man ordered, rising abruptly from his seat, pushing his dinner tray away.

Harry still had difficulty controlling his muscles, which were both exceedingly painful and uncooperative. He led Snape carefully, and knowingly through the secret passage until the reached the old wooden door that Harry had come to know so well.

Inside was a desk which held his cauldron, and a shelf in which housed his tools and ingredients. Usually he kept it completely clean and tidy, but after the previous nights rampage in search of deadly nightshade, there were bits and pieces strewn everywhere.

"Quaint." Snape muttered, moving swiftly over to examine the cauldron, before picking up Harry's book _Most Potente Potions_.

"Before you ask, that is my copy of that book- not the schools. I bought it in Knockturn Alley during summer." Harry said softly, now sitting on his favourite seat, which was the windowsill. One slight overbalance to his right and he'd topple the whole way down the tower to his certain death.

"Remove yourself from that precarious position boy, before you do succeed in killing yourself." Snape snapped, now reading through the instructions on how to brew _Solanaceae Serenity_. "I think I'll take this until I see fit to return it- you do, I suppose, realise that this is indeed a forbidden text for a student to own?"

Harry nodded his head, climbing down from the ledge. "Yes, sir. I know."

"Potter, if in future you feel the need to... consume an intoxicating substance, I want for you to come to me first. Don't ask questions, just do it. In fact, I want you to come see me anyway. I am not taking no for an answer." Snape stared at Harry a moment longer, before exiting without a backwards glance.

Harry sighed, and repositioned himself on the window ledge.

**Thanks for reading!! And a very BIG thanks to everyone who reviewed!! YAAY! Oh, and I apologise for saying that this chapter would be longer, seems I miscalculated no that... oops! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Solanaceae Serenity

**Rating:** R

**Pairing:** Harry Potter/Severus Snape

**Warnings:** drug use, explicit language, explicit sexual scenes with a person under 18, self-harm, slash.

**Summary:** Harry discovers a potion in a restricted text that helps to alleviate his troubled thoughts. Set during Harry's sixth year. AU. No HBP Spoilers.

**AN:** If you do not appreciate slash, meaning relations between two males, then I suggest you refrain from reading this story. Also, if you are squicked by drug abuse and self-harm, this story is not for you.

This is a rather short story, too long to be a one-shot, but too short to be called anything else. Will most likely consist of perhaps three to four chapters, each longer than this intial one.

**DISCLAIMER:** All recognised characters are property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury publishing and anyone else I have inadvertently missed out. No profit is being made from this endeavour.

**Solanaceae Serenity**- _Chapter Three_

Harry never did go and visit Snape, and neither did Snape ever again give him the impression that he was welcome to. In fact, Harry hardly saw him at all since they no longer had classes together. At meal times, although Harry very rarely attended, Snape never looked at him, and never spared him a second glance in the student-swarming halls.

Although no longer dependant or needful of the potion, the urge to just give in was always there; the need for a place in his mind so empty that he could hear neither himself, nor take notice of anything around him. The potion was peaceful, it was harmonious, it was... it was what Harry wanted most of all. But he couldn't have it, no, just like there were so many other things he couldn't have. The potion would be living a lie, and Harry was sick and tired of people's lies- even his own.

Nowadays, Harry rarely spoke, his voice becoming gravelly and rough. He didn't mind this much though; he quite liked it in fact. Not to mention, there wasn't a single soul in Hogwarts who seemed to notice or care whether or not Harry uttered a single syllable. Even his two best friends, Hermione and Ron, had given up- offended by Harry's apparent rudeness. Even Malfoy ignored him.

He knew he was falling into depression, but didn't have the energy to save him self. The shakes from the potion were an ever-present reminder of how desperate he'd been for peace, but the night of his overdose seemed more than only six weeks previous. In fact, half the time since, Harry had begun to think he imagined the whole experience.

Harry often of late found himself slipping into a wakeful dream, a dream where magic was a myth and he had loving parents and at least two siblings. When not at school they'd amuse themselves with each other, or by going on trips with their parents. There were fights, yes, but all were resolved peacefully with hugs and kisses and smiles and everything else Harry had been deprived of in his upbringing. Another such dream included a body woven tightly around his, warm and larger, a body that reminded him, strangely enough, of Snape.

Sometimes Harry wrote these dreams/fantasies down on parchment, but always ended up burning them in the Gryffindor fire during the early hours of the morning. But it didn't matter that they were gone, for he remembered them all flawlessly anyway- he didn't want to risk anyone reading his most deepest, private thoughts.

The Easter holidays came around very quickly, but to Harry they meant nothing at all. Slowly but surely he was deteriorating, not only emotionally but physically from his inexistent appetite.

Nothing mattered to him anymore; not his health, his school marks, people's opinions or, most curiously, death. Harry had feared death, but now the unknown -where he'd be unknown- began to harbour an appeal that it once had lacked. Again the temptation to end his life was present throughout his thoughts- for surely people would notice, but who would shed a tear? No one had ever truly known him, not even Hermione and Ron; Harry had never expressed to them that he'd been mistreated as a child, they knew nothing of him but what he'd allowed them to know. To them, Harry was a strong, brave and loyal Gryffindor who would mightily fight until the bloody end.

However, he still had a slight remaining notion of reluctance. Harry knew the source of that reluctance, even if he did forbid himself to even think of it- for who could ever truly love a damaged, misused and abused soul?

During the holidays he retreated to his brewing room, even if he didn't take the potion anymore. He'd settle himself upon his favourite windowsill or curl up in the corner with the duvet he'd had Dobby steal from the washroom. It didn't bother him if it had the Slytherin house crest on it.

It was up in the brewing room where Harry had his next encounter with Snape. The potions master had invited himself in, obviously expecting Harry to be there- he was correct in his assumptions, of course.

"How long have you been in here?" Snape asked gruffly, offering no real greeting.

Harry took a few moments to reply. "Three sunsets, and two sunrises." It was currently dark outside, Harry assuming it to be around ten at night.

"Have you eaten at all?"

Shrugging, Harry shook his head warily. He knew he was thin, more so than most, but appearances mattered not anymore. He'd had a couple of mouthfuls of water the last time he'd been to the bathroom, and it wasn't like he was starving- he'd gone longer without a proper meal at the Dursley's loads of times.

"You lied to me, Potter." Snape snapped suddenly, pulling up a dilapidated chair and sitting himself straight-backed upon it.

"I'm not on _Solanaceae Serenity_, if that's what you're thinking." Harry sighed.

"You said you didn't have a death wish, when clearly you do." Black, relentless eyes bored into Harry's.

"At times, honestly, I do. But nothing I'd actually act upon." Harry said dismissively, his throat slightly painful from disuse when he spoke those few words.

"That's not how it looks from this angle. You're wasting away boy, and if you're not careful you'll end up in the psychiatric/spell damage ward at St. Mungos'. The Headmaster has noticed, and is one step away from arranging an appointment." Snape informed in a bland, disinterested voice. Harry missed the slight glistening of concern swimming deep within the inscrutable depths.

"Why are you telling me this? Don't you think I need help, like everyone else thinks?" Harry muttered, a tiny flutter of anger, the first sign of real emotion in months, surging through his chest like the Hogwarts express.

"Not that kind of help, no. It wouldn't benefit you at all Potter, which you very well know." A pause. "I told you to come and see me, six weeks ago now." He glared down at Harry, who was still wrapped in his thieved duvet like a small child.

Harry looked up at Snape like he wad mad. "Are you serious? I don't know at times if that night where you helped me even happened you know. In my dreams I feel myself... there, be that with you, but still it's all just so..." He paused, frowning. "It's just so, for want of a more appropriate word- fucked up."

Snape stood abruptly. "In any case, something needs to be done and it's going to be done now. Come with me, I will not tolerate no for an answer."

That was how Harry found himself curled up on Snape's couch, his warm Slytherin duvet now in the correct territory and tucked around him tightly. A bowl of thick vegetable soup and a piece of crusty, buttered bread accompanied him, begging to be consumed. Harry had been thinking about what Snape had said about _it_ needing to be solved, but up until then he hadn't really bothered to contemplate what Snape had actually meant by it. Then a horrible thought struck Harry.

"The Prophesy!" Harry exclaimed, jumping from his seat and upending the soup all over Snape's lovely rug. "That's all you're worried about, isn't it? I should have known!" He ranted, staring angrily at Snape, two spots of colour now visible high up on his pallid cheek.

"What is this nonsense? And clean up that mess, it should be within your ability to do so..."

"No. I'm leaving, and you can shove that pathetic prophesy up your..." Harry halted his speech when Snape grabbed him roughly by the arm.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that I don't take kindly to insulting gestures within my personal space, or anywhere else for that matter. Now, if you have any consideration for those other than yourself, you'll show me the decency I deserve by explaining yourself appropriately." Snape released his arm, now bruised, and raised a brow in challenge.

Harry sighed heavily and sat down, feeling his anger dissipate and the uselessness settle in. "I meant... why else would you appear to want to help me? You must know the prophecy, and realise that at this rate... I'll be dead before Voldemort can even get his hands on me. And without me there, like destiny foretells, there will be no one to kill him. But just so you know- I'm not a saviour and I don't plan on becoming one. Just because he killed my parents doesn't mean it's me who has to kill him- screw this whole _he marked me as his equal_ shite, he's killed loads of people- why can't someone else avenge those he's annihilated?"

"Yes, I'm aware of the prophecy, but that doesn't mean I believe it. We won't know until the day it happens who it will be that destroys he-who-has-destroyed-many. As for why I'm helping you, even I shan't ever be able to fathom it." Snape rolled his eyes drastically, before seating himself primly beside Harry.

Harry managed a small smile at that, before it too left him like his hope had done. "It's just- I know people look at me and see hope, but in essence I'm just an object that they need, and to no one am I a person, but just an idol and a machine. I don't live for life; I live for death- that's all they see me for. I'm being engineered for killing, and I don't want to be a part of that! I don't want to kill anyone, even if it is Voldemort; I know what killing does to a human soul! It darkens it beyond repair, a rift forms that is with you until you perish and beyond. My parents wouldn't have wanted it." Harry lowers his eyes, chewing ruthlessly on his lower lip. "If that makes any sense whatsoever."

"Yes, of course it makes sense. But you're a target Potter, with the Dark Lord as your archenemy. It's your destiny, as his chosen enemy, to fight until the death, prophecy or no. He was fuelled by the partial knowledge of this prophecy, and henceforth believes it, whether you do or not. He will do what he must, and that to him is to get rid of you before you get rid of him. However, must I remind you that this has nothing to do with why, as you put, I'm _helping_ you." Snape was looking intently into Harry's eyes, either using or resisting the urge to delve into his depths, to see his every thought.

Harry nodded solemnly, before cleaning up the mess he'd created minutes earlier.

"I didn't mean to assume... " Harry started, but Snape ceased his words.

"I don't require an apology Potter." Snape grunted unbecomingly before calling for a house-elf to bring more soup for Harry, and strong tea for himself.

The first attempt at stomaching the soup had Harry retching over the toilet, clutching his stomach as wave after wave of embarrassment tore relentlessly through him. He'd been sick in Snape's private bathroom! But Snape apparently didn't mind, only stood near and offered him water and a cool cloth for his face. His cheeks still burning with humiliation, Harry again tried the soup, more slowly, until his stomach accepted it and he ate nearly the whole bowl. He had to admit that he did feel better, having something in his stomach, but it was going to take a while before he'd have his normal, if diminished, appetite back again.

"You should go and get some rest, and not in that horrid room, but in your own bed. I want you to attend breakfast in the morning, and if you don't..." Snape narrowed his eyes, while leading Harry to the door.

The weight of a hand was heavy on Harry's almost emaciated shoulder, but he appreciated the gesture nevertheless, and even returned the sentiment. He supposed they looked ridiculous standing there, a hand on each other's shoulder, so Harry decided to make it feel not so stupid. He put his free hand on Snape's other shoulder, and moved closer so he could embrace the taller man lightly.

Apparently mildly startled, Snape returned the notion, taking a moment to notice that Harry was thinner than he had been six weeks ago.

"It was real, wasn't it?" Harry whispered, his face against Snape's chest, his long hair tickling his forehead, listening to his heart beating soundly.

Snape knew what Harry was referring to, and tightened his hold affirmatively. "Yes Potter, it was. You were in a right state."

Harry chuckled weakly, and a little sadly. "I know. I remember." He laughed again, this time with a little mirth. "You know, it's really strange- here I am, a bold Gryffindor, sniffling in the arms of an evil Slytherin. Now that's got to be a first."

"Indeed." Snape murmured. "I suppose, if it were to ensure that you ate a proper breakfast, you could slumber on my couch. It would be much more comfortable than that stone floor you're accustoming yourself to."

Harry smiled for the first time in a long time. "Of course, anything. I don't like being in the Gryffindor tower, too many people." He replied almost angrily for, even though he'd pushed Ron and Hermione away, they'd barely fought for him at all.

It was safe to say that Harry had a decent, dreamless slumber, his visions not plagued by darkness and horror, like usual, but of peace and warmth and strong arms holding him tight.


	4. Authors Note:

Hi!

I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this! I'm just posting this note here to say I'm not posting at anymore. Sorry! But here is a link to the completed version of this fic:

www (dot) thesilversnitch (dot) net / tss2 / viewstory (dot) php?sid3688

I hope you don't mind having to go elsewhere to read!

Thank you again!

Mu xxx


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